


Untouchable Face

by infinitely_perpetually



Category: Walking Dead RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitely_perpetually/pseuds/infinitely_perpetually
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissa says more than she intended during an improvisation within a Caryl scene.</p><p>--<br/>Disclaimer: The characters in this story are based on real people, but they are strictly fictional. The events depicted have not occurred. I adore these human beings and mean no offense to anybody named in this work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a while ago, but got stuck. One of these days, I'll finish my other McReedus, but this one is gnawing at me so I gave in. Thanks to kaoscraze82 and ravenesque for taking a looksie at this for me. =)
> 
> "Untouchable Face" is a song by Ani DiFranco. I wrote the first chapter quite a while ago, but I got tied up in deciding where I wanted to take the story. This song gives me major feels and is fueling me onward with this fic, so I decided to go with the name.

A halting kiss. Shy, gentle, sweet. She pulled away enough to look at his face, his eyes staring back at her, asking the question she had successfully avoided answering for years. The one she'd seen in his eyes during his most self-destructive points.

_Breathe. This isn't your moment._

Melissa took a sharp, involuntary breath as Norman's hands glided along the bare skin of her back. She clambered to regain herself and push her own feelings out of the way, succeeding long enough to remember the blocking and pull him to her again, lips grazing lightly against his. No longer awkward. Still sweet and gentle. And then she felt the salt sting her eyes and willed herself to hold it together, desperate not to let herself go in front the bare bones crew who had earned enough trust from the producers to work on the closed set.

He shifted, his hands slipping back down to her hips and lifting her off his lap, laying her down on the bed. He hovered over her, hesitating, and she reached up to run her fingers along his cheek and jaw.

"You okay? Is this… is it alright?" he asked, his voice barely audible, rumbling low in Daryl's typical speech pattern. She wondered where on earth Carol was hiding because the character was seemingly nowhere to be found, abandoning her in her struggle to get through this last take of the night.

She nodded and pulled him closer to her, then allowed Norman take over and control the way they moved together. They were under strict instructions from the parent company, and he had complied… mostly. More than a few extra caresses had occurred that night, all fairly innocent, all on her far side, away from camera. They'd talked it through during rehearsal and agreed it could help to keep them in the moment during multiple takes, but she never quite anticipated when they'd be coming and the surprise of each one had sent shivers down her spine.

Just when she thought another might be in store, he kissed her instead, going against the blocking. She startled but went with it, allowing her lips to part as his tongue found hers. The taste of him, the warmth, carried her out of her head and into her body and she heard herself whimper, felt her hands move from his shoulders to his hair, clinging to that kiss and the knowledge that it would evaporate at any second.

There was no evaporation. No booming voice yelling, "Cut!" from across the set. Nothing short-circuiting the feeling welling up in her chest or the tear slipping across her cheekbone. Norman's fingers traced along her side to her thigh, lifting it slowly until she wrapped her leg around the small of his back. He moved on top of her and she didn't even realize she was moving with him until he broke off the kiss and looked down at her, wiping the tear from her face.

His eyes bored into hers, asking that question again. Begging to know if she loved him even a fraction as much as he loved her. She swallowed hard. Her composure was gone; every wall she'd ever built had crumbled. And the words tumbled out her before she recognized them as her own confession.

"I love you."

He answered by kissing her again. Fervent, insistent, deep. She thought she may not be able to catch her breath again as they rocked together, simulating an act that felt just as real to her as any of her past experiences.

"Cut."

Greg's voice echoed softly through the room. Melissa flew back into her head and remembered exactly where she was. "That's a wrap, people. Take ten and clear the room, please. Let's give our actors a few minutes to regroup and get dressed before we pack it up."

Soft mumbles and sounds of appreciation of a job well done filtered through the air, but all she could do was stare up at Norman.

"You okay?" he asked again, still barely audible so as not to draw attention to her, but now in his own voice.

She tried to say yes, to nod, anything to indicate that she was, but her throat was so dry she couldn't make a sound, and she was fairly certain she had fallen under some sort of temporary paralysis. She'd just said she loved him. Spontaneously. In front of witnesses. On camera.

Greg appeared beside the bed, glowing with the certainty that he'd just captured what would become the final cut on the screen, as long as he could talk the network into it. He was talking. Saying something about being sure once they saw it, they would relax their standards. It wasn't lewd. It wasn't tawdry. It was simply beautiful. And if that fact alone didn't convince them, the assurance that this would go viral most definitely would.

"Sorry to spring that on you, Mel, but Norm and I thought it would be more effective if he went off-script. We knew you'd be able to roll with it, and wow. Just wow. You delivered," he explained. "I never doubted it for a minute."

"That was planned?" she managed to ask, feeling torn between betrayal and the understanding of such a surprise. It happened quite frequently in the industry… one actor and the director being in on a plan in order to get the most genuine, instinctive reaction from another actor in a scene. Still, she was thrown. Rolling with it was not even close to what she had done. She felt herself begin to tremble against the growing knot in her stomach.

"Yeah," Norman replied. He hadn't moved, sensing that he needed to stay right where he was. He shifted his weight to the other side to shield her face from view of the crew as they trickled out of the room.

Greg picked up on the body language. "I'll give you two some time. Take all you need," he tossed over his shoulder as he made his own exit. The door closed behind him and they were left alone.

"Mel?" Norman dipped his head toward hers, trying to make eye contact while she avoided it at all costs, focusing instead on the tattoo over his heart, virtually imperceptible beneath the make-up used to conceal it for the scene.

"I just need a minute. I'm fine."

The trembling increased to outright shaking.

"No, you're not."

He tipped her chin upward and her eyes followed of their own accord. The look he'd had earlier had been replaced by one of concern.

"I… you know how emotional I get over Carol." The explanation was hasty and fumbled, and he picked up on it immediately. "We should… could you maybe get off?"

A blush and a slight smile crossed his face, but he had the decency not to tease her for her inadvertent slip of language. He pulled himself up and she scrambled from beneath him, reaching for the robe hidden beside the bed and covering up as fast as she could. He found his own robe and slipped it on, managing to do so in time to place a hand on her arm and prevent her leaving.

"Hey. Don't go yet. Please," he asked. "We're not alright here, are we?"

She put her hand on top of his and offered a weak smile. "Sure we are. I was surprised. That's all."

"I'm sorry. I feel like I should have warned you somehow."

"You couldn't. The scene wouldn't have worked if you had," she replied. "We're good."

She stood and relief flooded through her when he let her go, until his voice stopped her dead in her tracks only a few steps away.

"I love you, too."

All the air left her lungs. Her feet were lead. It was stupid. Impulsive. A Pandora's box that would lead to nothing but trouble. Panic triggered her adrenaline and she rushed out of the room, strode briskly to her trailer, and slammed the door behind her.

_What have I done?_


	2. Chapter 2

Apologies for the delayed update. Real life, blah blah blah. Special thanks to Emily and Liddy for beta-ing this chapter. It's so much better with your input!

* * *

 

A look of mischievous delight covered her face, lighting up his phone screen in every sense. It was an older picture, back from before their Conan appearance last year. He'd latched onto her ear while she smiled up at the camera. It was one of his favorites of the two of them, a perfect representation of the playfulness and sass she threw at him on a daily basis, all while he buffeted her with adoration and antics. Norman liked it so much he'd saved it to his phone. And this was probably the hundredth time he'd stared at it today, debating whether or not he should try to reach out to her again.

She wasn't answering. Calls, texts… it was radio silence. Thirty-six hours of static since filming in secret late Friday night, since he'd knocked on her trailer door and was met with nothing but the sound of his own uneven breathing. He considered riding the bike over to her house, but he had no pretext. Not that she'd buy it anyway. She'd know exactly why he was there. And if she was shutting him out via the phone, he might make it worse showing up uninvited. She reminded him of a skittish horse, backing away in fear, and if he pushed too hard, she'd never trust him again. He never was good with horses, but he'd learned the hard way that forcing something was not a good idea.

He clicked off the phone and let his eyes drift to the window. The view that normally sparked his creativity was nothing but a swath of lackluster trees, their green and brown colors dulled with his mood. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his jaw, closing his eyes and trying to focus on something besides her, besides the image that his brain relentlessly forced on him. Not the one from his phone. He would have been grateful for that. All he could see now was her face as she lay beneath him, moving in sync with him, whispering to him.

She'd claimed afterward that she was emotional over Carol, but her face told him something else. Those words. It wasn't only that she said them, but how they diffused across her features. In the truth of the moment, Norman couldn't help but see it was her. Not Carol. _Her_.

That stupid filming strategy… his chest felt heavy with the weight of it. It felt wrong from the moment it was pitched. Melissa was as protective of Carol as he was of her, and something in his gut twinged at the idea of improvising an intimate moment between their characters. This wasn't a one-liner for comedic effect, it was the culmination of several seasons of intense emotional bonding. He knew she'd have no problem with a scripted version of that scene, but Greg was so excited by the way the two of them typically played off each other, Norman ignored his instincts and went along with it.

She was a professional. She understood how these things work, but there was a hidden cost to that understanding. An expensive one only the two of them knew. And as he clicked on his phone and stared at the screen again, the regret and uncertainty washed over him. Maybe if he'd seen her face when he echoed her words back to her, admitting his own secret, he'd have some idea of how to foot that bill. Instead he'd spent the weekend sitting in this chair, kicking himself for having no idea how to fix any of it, and fighting his impulse to self-destruct with every minute that ticked by with no word from her.

He tapped the touchscreen, typing out one last plea.

_know u need space. just let me know ur ok. pls?_

He hit the send button just as the voice reached him from across the room. "Still moping?"

Norman pocketed his phone and turned to young woman leaning against the doorframe to the living room. She wore a look of mild annoyance, but he couldn't find the energy to be bothered by it.

"Just tired," he replied. He couldn't blame the brunette for rolling her eyes. The lie was so thinly veiled he gave up on the idea of deception immediately. Besides, this situation didn't exactly call for making an effort to hide his feelings. "Fuck it. Yeah, I am."

"Look, these last few weeks have been fun and all, but I'm heading back to the city."

Norman's eyes flicked to her side, only now noticing the overnight bag she held loosely with one hand. He nodded and started to get up, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand and crossed to him.

"You don't need to drive me. I called a cab. Should be here any minute," she said. "Besides, I think you have better places to be. Like maybe her place?"

Norman flinched at the suggestion, having no desire to talk about something so personal with someone he considered nothing but a friend with benefits, emphasis laying squarely on the "benefits" part of that description. She shook her head and gave him a tiny smile, pity practically oozing from every flawless feature, and he felt his eyes narrow at the gesture. He abhorred being pitied. And what did she know, anyway? Except that apparently she was brighter than he'd originally thought. And he was far more transparent. And staring at his phone instead of her for two straight days had given her enough of a clue to figure out what was going on in his head.

"Take care of yourself," she said as the horn of the taxi honked in his driveway. She kissed his cheek and headed toward the door. "And if you ever get tired of pining after whoever she is, give me a call. We could have some fun."

She closed the door behind her and the noise of the cab's engine faded, leaving him alone in his misery. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he nervously picked at his fingernails. Maybe he should take her suggestion after all, head over to Mel's house and see if she'd let him in. The phone buzzed in his pocket and he grabbed it, skimming the short reply on his screen.

_I'm okay. See you tomorrow._

He slumped back in the chair, swallowing against the tightening in his throat as he read the message. So much for riding over there and trying to talk it out. He'd offered her space and he wasn't going to fuck it up by doing the opposite when she took him up on it. A bitter laugh escaped him as he realized the only text she’d answered was the one where he said he'd leave her alone. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and jumped up. Maybe he needed to stay away from her for a while, but he didn't have to sit here and wallow. Some fresh air and a change of scenery would do him good. Give him a chance to think without her face clouding his mind. He grabbed the keys to his bike and headed out the door. Maybe he’d find some clarity in the backwoods of Georgia. Or maybe he’d just get far enough out of range to blame the silence was from the lack of cell coverage. Either way, it had to feel better than this.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**  Thanks to Liddym2113 and kaoscraze82 for beta goodness!

 

* * *

 

"Good morning, Ms. McBride," chirped the burly guard at the studio gate, his friendly demeanor clashing madly with his imposing physique. "Mr. Gimple called down a few minutes ago and asked that you stop by his office first thing."

Melissa thanked the man and smiled, hiding her nervousness at the thought of being called to the showrunner's office. As friendly as the entire cast and crew were, she still tended to panic about such summonings. It felt a bit like being called to the principal's office. She pushed the comparison out of her mind as she parked, throwing her keys into her bag and juggling her coffee with the latest script while she walked toward the building. It wasn't long until she rounded a corner on the far side of the facility, spotting the open door to her boss's office.

"You wanted to see-"

The end of her sentence abruptly escaped her when she saw three men in the room instead of one. Scott was sitting at his desk, talking animatedly with Greg as he leaned against the credenza on the side wall, both seemingly oblivious to her costar's quiet fidgeting in one of the guest chairs. Norman's eyes met hers and she recognized the flash of anxiety in them, mirroring her own feelings about the impromptu meeting. He didn't know what was going on, either.

"Morning, Mel! Close the door and grab a chair," Scott smiled at her. His lighthearted tone made her feel slightly more at ease. He would never be anything but appropriately sympathetic if Carol were about to be killed off, or if she had inadvertently done something to endanger her standing with the studio or network.

"I hope you had a relaxing weekend, because I'm afraid it's going to be a long day," Scott started. Melissa sank into her chair, her heart sinking a little further than the rest of her body. Maybe she shouldn't feel more at ease after all.

"Greg, why don't you start?" Scott suggested.

Greg beamed at them. "The network okayed the scene. I knew they would once they saw it, and you two really delivered. It was a slam dunk. Well,  _mostly_  a slam dunk."

"They wanted a little more, actually," Scott added, handing each of them sheets of pink paper, the color used to indicate revisions to the script. "Really, they loved it, but they felt there should be more of a reaction from Daryl when Carol says she loves him. It makes sense, so I reworked the scene a little and filled in the dialogue. They already gave these changes a tentative green light, but they want to see the dailies tomorrow before they make it official."

"Tomorrow? Meaning we need to reshoot after everyone's cleared out tonight?" Norman asked, finally breaking his silence as he thumbed through the pages. The hint of an edge in his voice made Melissa steal a sideways glance, but he was dutifully studying the new script, offering no hint at what was bothering him. She looked back at her own pages, scrambling for a way out of this.

"It's not something we can loop?" she asked, knowing the suggestion was unlikely, but hoping for the possibility all the same. The idea of shooting the scene again, of recreating such an intimate moment with Norman after what had happened…  _No. Not Norman_ , she reminded herself.  _Daryl. This is Daryl and Carol._

She skimmed the new dialogue, initially the same as the improvisation they had filmed, then deviating into an interaction that played into both character's tragic pasts. It was a moving scene, worthy of being shown. One that both Carol and Daryl deserved. She owed it to Carol to make it happen.

"Never mind. Now that I'm reading this, I see looping won't work," she conceded.

"Yeah, but we won't have to shoot the whole scene again. Only the new section," Greg agreed. "Any questions?"

"Same call time as last week?" Norman asked, the edge in his voice now replaced with something else. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Disappointment, or maybe sadness? Worry?

"Yep. Same everything, except the script," Greg answered. "Alright guys, better head over hair and makeup before someone notices you're not there yet."

"Thanks, you two," Scott added. "I'll be there tonight, too. A little moral support is the least I can offer after springing this on you."

Melissa and Norman simultaneously stood and nearly collided as they turned to leave. Several awkwardly maneuvered steps later, she was flushed pink and walking slightly ahead of a sullen Norman. None of this was his fault. She knew that. The scenario had replayed a thousand times over in her mind since the moment the word  _cut_  had yanked her back to reality. The surprise of his kiss. That question in his eyes. How easily she'd splintered beneath his gaze, the fissures exposing something she'd kept so well hidden she hadn't even realized it herself.

His subsequent declaration amplified the shock of it beyond what she could process at the time, but the passing hours unearthed a startling insight: his words weren't spontaneous. They were calm, and considered, and…  _accepted_.

He'd thought about those words before.

"Mel, wait up."

He was beside her now, gently tugging at her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction. She followed him to a small storage room in a side hallway.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Okay? Alive and breathing, maybe, but she wasn't okay. This was a disaster, her cardinal rule to never fall for someone during an ongoing project broken in a moment of weakness. Curse words flew to mind, the urge to be angry… with Greg and Norman for the secret setup. With herself for allowing filming to continue when she knew she wasn't fully in character, for answering the silent question between them. Anger wouldn't do either of them any good, though, so she took a breath and nodded.

"I'm sorry about the other night. I don't know why I went along with it. If you don't want to do this reshoot, I'll talk to Greg. See if I can pull some strings with the network… something," he said.

She'd thought the edge his voice earlier might have been because she'd shut him out all weekend, but the look on his face told a different story. He was trying to protect her. For a split-second she was tempted to close the distance between them, crawl into his shielding embrace and fling herself headlong through the door she'd opened the other night. Then she remembered the trouble giving into temptation had already caused and regained her self-control.

"Thank you for that, but it's fine… really," she said. "This is what we do."

He chewed on his lip nervously, clearly unconvinced of her willingness to reshoot the scene.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "We'll talk more tonight, okay?"

This time she gave in slightly to her impulse, touching his arm in a gesture of comfort while she waited for his acknowledgment. He looked at her as though he wanted to argue. To convince her to flee some sort of impending catastrophe with him. After a moment, he finally agreed.

"Alright."

"Alright," she echoed, then turned and left him.

She walked briskly, not wanting him to catch up with her again. She'd talk to him tonight. Lie. Convince him it was Carol who had said those words. Let him know in no uncertain terms that he needed to let go of the idea of anything happening between them. She'd made this mess and she was going to clean it up. Handling him shouldn't be much trouble if he was willing to give her the space he'd already acknowledged she needed. Now all she needed to do was figure out how to handle herself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dailies are the raw footage from a day's worth of filming, used for reviewing scenes (most often for technical purposes, but also artistic). Looping is a process where new audio is recorded and used in an already existing scene, either for sound clarity or minor changes to dialogue where the differences would not be noticeable.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Sorry this took a while. I can't guarantee this story will be updated regularly because my schedule is insane right now, but thanks for sticking with it! And thanks to Liddym2113 and kaoscraze82 for the beta goodness! Extra thanks to yabigdish for being so encouraging and supportive. =)

* * *

 

Their conversation reverberated in his head as she lay beneath him, gazing up at him with heartrending tenderness. They'd met up before their call time. They'd talked. Or rather, _she_ had talked. He'd sat there in quiet disbelief as she attempted to convince him to forget what he felt for her. Attempted to convince herself she'd simply been acting when she'd spoken those words. As she backpedaled and rationalized and denied.

"I love you," she said low, her voice as alluring as her bare skin against his, drawing his focus again.

It was Carol now. Of that he was certain. Melissa's own personality and mannerisms were set aside as her placid eyes held his, her fingers lightly tracing his features with the same devotion he'd heard in her voice when.... He blinked slowly, trying to drive the memory from his mind. He couldn't keep thinking about it, not now. Not when he'd witnessed her block it all out over and over tonight, each take a knife twisting slowly in his gut. So he did the only thing he could do. He used it. Took that rough, raw wound and channeled it into the emotions Daryl was feeling.

Norman barely held it together when he began to answer her. "I-I…"

Her fingers moved to his lips, stopping him as she shook her head.

"You should hear it," she said. "You deserve to hear it."

"So do you," he argued.

She gave him a small, warm smile. He dipped his head, silently berating himself for faltering, but she tipped his chin gently upward, meeting her eyes again. A single look letting him know he should bear no shame for his past and his struggle to put his feelings into words. She closed her eyes, pulling him closer, tracing his features, her lips brushing lightly against his cheek, his mouth.

"I don't need words, Daryl. Just you."

He rested his forehead against hers as they clung to each other, his chest heaving with emotion as she held him there.

"Carol…"

He tore himself away to look at her, saw the tears she blinked back at the sound of her name. Fought his own.

She pulled him to her and they kissed again, long and slow and deep. He moved against her, felt her wrap herself around him, find his rhythm. Everything Norman hadn't been able to process in his stunned silence, everything he wanted to say to her, to _her_ , suddenly clawed at him, struggling to get out. He fought to swallow his own feelings, to shove them aside and do his job as they fell into perfect balance, her mouth warm and welcoming, her hands gliding softly over his back.

_Carol. It was Carol. Not me._

If he didn't stop thinking about it, didn't keep his head, he was going to lose it and break down for real in front of all these people. In front of her. Her legs tightened around him and he broke off the kiss, struggling to maintain a shred of professionalism. Her lips met his cheek, his forehead, his temple. She wound her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth to hers again, her lips parting as they met, her tongue slowly caressing his. He was going to come undone.

_You have to accept this… please._

She whimpered beneath him, grasping him harder.

_I don't want to lose this amazing friendship we have._

His skin burned where her nails dug into his flesh.

_You need to let it go._

He needed her to stop.

_For us._

"Cut!" Greg called out from across the room.

Norman pulled himself up quickly, avoiding her eyes as he waited to hear if they needed another take. He wasn't sure he could endure it. Not with her words haunting him. Not with her body torturing him.

"Fantastic job, guys! We got it. This is gonna be our best season finale yet," Greg announced before asking the crew to leave for a few minutes, just as he had last time. He and Scott were grinning and clapping each other on the back as they filed out after the others.

Norman found his robe and slipped it on, trying to pull himself together before facing her. He wasn't like her. Couldn't just slip in and out of character the way she did, or the emotions the characters brought out in him. In this moment, he envied that about her. He wished he could separate himself from all of it, but he didn't operate that way. He needed time. Space. He closed his eyes and tried to drag himself out of the anguish he'd fallen into during the scene.

Soft fingers landed on his forearm, startling him. He knew he couldn't avoid her any longer, but he hesitated, unsure of what he would see when he faced her. Pity, or disappointment, or irritation that he hadn't been able to heed her earlier requests. He steeled himself and opened his eyes, ready for anything. Anything but what he saw.

Her breathing was shallow and ragged. Her eyes regretful and pleading. And before he could react, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. Confusion flooded him, but his hands moved unconsciously to her back, drawing her closer.

"You're not okay, are you?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm…." He wanted to say it. To soothe her, even as he struggled. Tell her he was fine.

"I'm…"

He could do this, for her. Pretend. Hell, she was right that morning. It was what they did… pretending.

He'd almost spit out the lie when she grasped him tighter, balling his robe into her fist as she buried her face in his neck.

"No."

Neither of them moved for long moment. They let the silence envelop them as they enveloped each other, breathing each other in, each passing second increasing his conflict between the comfort and pain of her proximity. She finally broke the cycle as she shifted in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I never intended for any of this-" Her breath caught before she could finish.

He felt her hands move to his jaw while her lips brushed softly against his cheek. His eyes drifted closed as she lingered there, her breath warm against his face. Her lips pressed against him again, slightly lower, slightly longer. God, he wanted to kiss her, turn his mouth toward hers, still so close to his, but he didn't dare. He slid his hand from her shoulder up her neck, pausing when he inadvertently found the pulse beating against his fingers. Her heart was racing faster than his own. Holding onto each other, being close like this, it was too much. Her breath came faster against his cheek and he tensed, knowing what was coming next. Certain she was about to bolt, just like that skittish horse.

Then her lips grazed his, the barest of kisses, and he forgot how to breathe. Forgot everything, even his name. Wasn't truly sure it was his that she sighed before kissing him again. Firmly this time. Fully. Her hand tangled through his hair, holding him there while she kissed him a third time, and he finally stumbled past his shock and began kissing her back, his mouth greedily taking what she was giving him.

Every instinct he had told him to hold back, but the ache surging through his body was forceful and hungry. Selfish, and he didn't want to stop it. He let himself go and drank her in, knowing he would pay some sort of price when she shoved him away. Except she didn't. If anything she held him tighter, upping the ante as they clambered for more of each other. Clashing mouths and hands and bodies rapidly becoming desperate. Her fingers raked against his back just as the far-off sound of laughter reached them from behind the closed door, crashing into them and knocking them apart.

Melissa recoiled, staring at him with wide eyes, the reality of what she had just done sinking in and clouding her face with trepidation.

"I-I'm sorry. We shouldn't have… I shouldn't…" she shook her head, her expression darkening as she closed herself off from him again.

_Fuck._

"Mel-" he started, but she cut him off.

"This can't happen."

Her tone was unyielding, rigid. The complete opposite of her actions a minute ago that left her still trying to catch her breath. She was fighting some war with herself and he hadn't the slightest clue why.

"I don't understand. I just… _I don't understand_. You have to talk to me. You have to tell me why," he begged.

More laughter came from behind the door, and her eyes darted toward it nervously, clearly worried that the crew might come barging back in at any moment.

"Not here," she said.

"Okay, we'll go to my place. Or yours," he suggested.

"No. No, somewhere else. It has to be somewhere else. Somewhere… public."

_Public_. She didn't want to be alone with him. Or was afraid to. Afraid of what, exactly, he didn't know, but he was determined to find out. Tonight.

He racked his brain, trying to come up with somewhere that was public enough to appease her, while offering enough privacy to talk this out.

"I think I know a place. A roadhouse," he said. "I can text you the address."

She pulled her robe tightly around herself and considered it, then nodded and turned to go. He watched as she walked away, leaving him with a thousand questions, again. He could only hope she would give him some answers before he drove himself crazy with speculation. As though she could read his mind, she turned back to him when she reached the door. "I won't need long. Only a few minutes."

She disappeared through the door, and he moved to follow, pausing to gather his swirling thoughts as he neared it. Something was in the way, but whatever it was, he was getting the chance to argue against it. To hear her side of things, and then plead his case. It was infinitely more than he thought he would get after their earlier conversation. The tiniest spark of hope suddenly flared into an inferno.

All he needed was a chance.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**  I know this is a long time coming, so I hope it doesn't disappoint. This was mostly written a while ago, but needed some work to come together. Shout out to my betas, Emily/Liddy/Naomi.

 

* * *

 

 

The gas light on her dash clicked on as she rounded yet another bend, fraying her nerves beyond their current already-frazzled state. This place Norman had suggested was further out than she'd thought, and she cursed herself for not stopping for gas near home. She took another corner and a neon sign came into view. "Clem's" shone in two-foot-high letters above her head, casting the gravel parking lot in a reddish hue. It wasn't far from the highway, but far enough that she'd been worried about being stranded in the middle of nowhere. She pulled into the first space she found, wedged between a oversized pickup on one side, and a larger oversized pickup on the other, and her anxiety kicked up all over again.

The place had seen better days. Weathered siding screamed for a fresh coat of paint. Flickering, half-dead bulbs dimly illuminated the porch that ran the length of the front of the building. Not exactly the kind of place she wanted to find herself in after midnight. Several smokers laughed raucously near the entrance as she turned the key, killing the engine. She glanced around, looking for his bike or his Jeep, and when she didn't see either in her limited view from the relative safety of her car, she flipped on her phone to text him and see if he was here yet.

 _Shit._ No signal. The smokers on the porch laughed again just as somebody tapped on her window, making her jump so hard she felt the seatbelt cut across her lap. Relief poured over her as she recognized his face on the other side of the glass. She unbuckled and climbed out.

"Sorry I startled you," he said.

"I think I started myself more," she replied, looking toward the building. "You sure about this place?"

"Yeah, it looks worse for wear, but it's not bad inside. Found it yesterday on a ride. Nobody recognized me, or if they did, they didn't give a shit who I was. Same story tonight," he explained, then a wry smile crossed his face. "Come on. They've got a pool table in the back. You can school me again."

He offered his arm and she took it, putting her trust in him that they'd be alright here. The smokers paid them no mind as they stepped onto the porch, busy with their debate about which college recruits the Falcons should have picked up in draft. They pushed the door open and it turned out to be exactly what he'd said. The inside wasn't fancy, but it was in good shape with fairly modern décor. Country music played loud enough to keep conversations private, but not so loudly you couldn't hear yourself think. And not a single head turned as they walked in, with the exception of a quick nod from the bartender. He turned back to the server who had been giving him a drink order and Melissa breathed a sigh of relief. It was kind of perfect. Public, but with nobody bothering them.

They made their way to the back of the place where an alcove with a pool table and a handful of stools were lined up next to a shelf running along the wall. The server from the bar popped her head in.

"Get you two anything? Got a pulled pork special tonight if you're hungry."

"You hungry?" Norman asked her. She shook her head and he ordered two coffees instead, whispering to the server and slipping her a few bills when she returned with the drinks. She nodded and gave Melissa a quick smile before leaving them alone.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Just making sure we aren't interrupted," he replied. He racked up the balls on the table, finishing just as the server came back with a carafe for refills and a free-standing sign she placed in front of the alcove. _Reserved for Private Party_ , the sign read on both sides.

Melissa thought of chiding him for getting her alone with him after all, but then she realized she could still see out into the bar area from the corner where she stood. Only the far side of the pool table was hidden away. She crossed over to him, picked up her coffee, and looked at him expectantly as she took a sip.

"You should probably break," she said, glancing at the balls on the table. "If this goes anything like last time, and the time before that…"

He shook his head, but picked a stick out of the rack on the wall and chalked it. She watched as he focused on the cue ball, lining up his shot. It had been a couple years since they'd played pool, and she'd destroyed him. He'd taken the loss well. A few self-deprecating jokes mixed with obvious admiration of a skill he hadn't realized she'd possessed. A pang of sadness spread through her as the balls scattered across the table, patterns changing like constellations in the night sky. Nobody would be walking out of here a winner tonight.

"You're up," he said, interrupting her thoughts. The soft hum of the ventilation kicked in and the lamp over the table began to sway slightly, matching the uncertainty she felt as she sized up the table. She took her shot and sank the nine-ball in the corner.

"Guess I'm stripes," she said, circling away from him to line up her next shot.

"Yeah," he said quietly, not taking his eyes off her.

She sank two more before barely missing a banked shot.

"You're slipping," he teased, managing to make her smile despite herself. He took a shot and landed the two-ball in the side pocket.

"And you've improved," she said.

"Had my ass handed to me a while ago. Made me wanna practice." He took another shot and missed. "Lucky for you, I still suck."

"Hmmm. You're not so bad," she said, leaning across the table to take her next shot.

"Then what's the problem?" he asked.

His question stopped her mid-shot. She took a breath and studied the table, not exactly sure she was ready to have this conversation. She couldn't put it off all night. It wasn't fair. None of what she'd done tonight was fair. Not the way she'd taken the scene further physically than she'd intended. Not what she'd done in the aftermath. It was comfort, at first. Holding onto him. It was supposed to be for his benefit, but the longer they held on, the longer she wanted to stay in his arms. The more she ached for him. She'd waited all of a minute before she let her selfishness get the better of her. Now he was asking for an explanation, and all she wanted was a few more minutes of lightness before it all came crashing down around them.

"Please," he said. His expression was masked, careful, but she could see the truth in his eyes. The questions. The pain of it. She couldn't bear it. Her eyes drifted back to the table, and she considered taking another shot, but it couldn't be avoided any longer. She put her stick in the wall rack and turned to him.

"Norman," she started, then glanced toward the bar, wanting to ensure nobody was looking their direction. The only eyes on her were his.

"It wasn't Carol," she admitted, "but that doesn't matter."

"What do you mean 'that doesn't matter'?" he asked.

She needed to make her point, but she didn't want to come off as harsh, so she considered her words carefully before answering.

"If we'd gone to your place tonight, tried to have this conversation there, don't you think that would have been… awkward?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"You're seeing someone, Norman."

"What? No. No, I'm not."

She reeled at his denial, but kept herself in check. She was already on the edge of  emotional overload.

"You're not seeing anyone? You're not sharing your bed with someone? Because the woman I met on set last week seemed to have an intimate knowledge of the thread count of your sheets."

"No, Mel. It wasn't anything serious. It was…. casual."

"Casual?" she asked. She knew she was going to end up hurting both of them tonight, but she hadn't realized exactly how much damage he was going to inflict in the process.

"Yes. Casual. And _over_ ," he said. "She's gone."

Melissa studied his face, saw he wasn't lying. The girl was gone, but…

"When?" she asked.

"When what?"

"When did you break it off?"

"Yesterday."

 _Yesterday_. The word stung. A second ago, she thought she may be able to get past her reservations, to take a risk and ignore her instincts. He’d just confirmed her instincts had been right all along.

"She… she got fed up with me sulking, so she took off. Back to Atlanta," he admitted. _She took off._ As much as she wanted to hide her disappointment, she knew he could read it all over her face.

"So you were calling and texting me all weekend, what? While you sat right next to her?"

"I was going to end it" he added quickly. "I was, but I wasn't thinking about her, Mel. All I could think about was you. The only thought in my head was you. Looking up at me… saying you…."

His face was so sincere, so genuine, she reached for him instinctively. He pulled her close to him and she closed her eyes, trying to commit the feel of him to memory. The gentle strength of his arms around her. His steady breathing against her chest. The smell of his cologne. She held onto him until she couldn't fight the heartache anymore and stepped out of his grasp.

"How long?" she asked.

He shook his head, puzzled by her question.

"How long have you felt this way? The way you said it last week… you already knew. How long?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "A while."

She stared at him, silently willing him to answer her more directly.

"Fourth season," he confessed. "Being separated like that. I missed you more than I thought I would. I told myself it was just professionally. That I missed working with you. And then when I stopped by to watch you filming, I… I didn't want to admit it, but I knew."

Almost two years. Two years he loved her. Two years of not acting on it. Dating other women. Casually.

"Why didn't you do something about it, Norman? Say something?" she asked. "All this time?"

"I don't know," he answered.

"Am I unapproachable? Intimidating?" she asked.

"God, no."

Her brain kept buzzing back to his earlier admission that he hadn't been to the one to end his fling.

"Why did you keep seeing other women?" she asked. "Even if you weren't ready to talk to me about it. If you… if you loved me, then why?"

"I just… I don’t know," he repeated.

She resigned herself to the situation. "You didn't want to be alone," she said quietly.

He stared at her, unable to refute it, then slowly nodded.

"I'm sorry, Norman. I can't. I can't be with someone who can't stand to spend five minutes by himself. Who has to find someone to keep his bed warm while he ignores something that could be real, standing right in front of him. That's why this can't happen. I can't do it. I won't."

"Mel, please. I can, I swear. I can do it with you," he pleaded.

"I don't want you change for me," she said, shaking her head. "I… I do love you. All of you, even this. It's who you are, and I would never try to somehow 'fix' you or make you into someone you're not. But I can't be with you."

A growing desperation began to show on his face, in the way his voice carried the slightest hint of a tremble. "Mel, please. If we love each other-"

She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead, lingering for a second before leaning back.

"We love each other, but this isn't some fairytale. Sometimes love isn't enough. I'm sorry, but it isn't."

"Please, I can do this, I promise you," he begged her. She wanted to believe him. More than anything in this world, she wanted to give in to him and trust that he could somehow pull it off. Even if he could, though, he'd be doing it for her. And that was the wrong reason.

"Maybe you can," she said. "And if you do, you're going to make someone very lucky."

"Mel…"

"Don't make this harder than it already is, please," she said. "I can't ask you to change for me. And I can't wait around hoping that you do it on your own. I've been down that road before. It's a dead end. A painful one, all the way around."

He stepped toward her, but she stepped back, keeping the distance between them. She felt the tears start to sting her eyes and she held them off, determined to stay strong.

"Goodnight, Norman," she whispered before turning and walking out of the alcove. She didn't look back, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other as she made her way across the bar and out the door. The porch was empty when she stepped out onto it, the flystrips hanging from the eaves lolling gently in the breeze. She hesitated, taking in a few quick, shuddering breaths of the cool autumn air before she found the strength to continue on to her car.

Her hands shook as she struggled with the seatbelt, finally feeling the click as it snapped together. She turned the key and backed out of the lot, heading toward the highway, forcing herself to focus on finding a gas station. She got as far as getting the nozzle in her tank before it overtook her, the sobs racking her body as the numbers on the gas pump swirled from the tears.

She couldn't deny it. She loved him. She loved him intensely, but he wasn't ready, not for the depth of what she felt. And she couldn't put either of them through the inevitable suffering it would cause if she held on to him. The resentments that would build if he attempted to somehow change his nature for her. The blame that would be placed later. The guilt, and fighting, until they looked at each other and only saw a stranger looking back.

She couldn't do that to either of them. So she let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. This is not the last chapter. Trust me. Also, if you are familiar with the song that is the namesake of this fic, you'll recognize a lot details. They were too good to not add in here.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**  Sorry for all the delays on this story... life's been busy busy busy. Thanks as always to Emily and Liddy for beta-ing!

* * *

 

His phone vibrated its way across the table, inching past him as he let it go to voicemail. He didn't look to see who it was. He didn't care. The only call he wanted right now was hers, but he knew it wasn't coming. When she made a decision, she stuck to it. And now he was stuck, too, with his chin resting on his forearms, slumped across the kitchen table, staring out the window as though the answers to all his problems could be found by peering through the glass long enough.

How Norman managed to get through the last few days was a mystery. They filmed two group scenes together that called for a few shared looks, but no direct conversation. He'd expected the lack of dialogue to make it easier, but the ever-present unspoken conversations between their characters proved otherwise. Still it wasn't as hard as the wrap party, carefully negotiated, skirting each other all night. They worked opposite sides of the room in intricate, interweaving patterns of avoidance that would have put a Spirograph to shame.

They wouldn't be able to keep avoiding each other forever, though. Their big scene had already been approved by the network, and a firestorm of media attention was sure to follow when it aired. Not that there was anything new about the attention surrounding a season finale, but this time he'd have to sit next to Melissa on talk show couches and convention panels and pretend everything was the same between them. That they were as close as they'd always been. That when he looked in the mirror, he saw something more than the empty shell of a man who could have been with her, but drove her away instead.

The phone vibrated once more, a reminder that a voicemail waited, and he figured he should check in case it was the kid or some sort of emergency. Honestly, he would have almost appreciated an emergency at this point. It would force him out of himself and into dealing with something besides the never-ending cycle of hopelessness and frustration he'd been caught in for days. He took a deep breath and made himself sit up before reaching for the phone. Andy's name and number appeared on the lock screen.

 _Fuck._ He was late for drinks. By half an hour. He clicked through to call him back without listening to the message.

"Hey, sorry, I'm on my way. Got sidetracked," Norman said when Andy picked up.

"Ah, well I've started without you. I may not be your prettiest friend, but I figure by the time you get here, you'll be mine," Andy said. The laughter in his voice made Norman feel half-human again.

"Yeah, you only think I’m pretty when you're drunk," Norman replied. "So get a double, and order one for me. I'll be there in twenty."

"Alright. Don't stand me up," Andy said and hung up.

Norman picked up his jacket and debated whether to take his bike or the Jeep. The weather was perfect for riding, but the Jeep would be less conspicuous if he needed to leave it and take a cab home later. He was contemplating whether he could stick to his drink limit when a photo on the wall caught his eye, and he felt a sickening urge to stand there all night, staring. Melissa smiled out at the camera, glowing amid a sea of happy faces in a candid group shot from the set. His arm was around her. She leaned into him. The ever-present knot in his gut tightened as he reached for the frame, lifting it from its hook, gently placing it face down on the small table in the entryway.

He shoved his wallet in his pocket and grabbed the keys to the Jeep.

* * *

Andy rose from his seat and drew him into a tight hug when he arrived, and Norman made a silent vow to focus on his friend tonight. The end of the season meant they'd be apart for a while, and he wanted to make the most of their time together.

"So, this distraction that kept you… she have a name?" Andy asked, raising one eyebrow in mock judgment before taking a sip of his drink.

Norman tried to think of anything but her name, but failed miserably and took a quick sip from the glass sitting in front of him, buying a few seconds while his mind scrambled for some sort of explanation.

"Nah, nothing like that. Just caught up in stuff," he said.

"Don't-"

"Things."

"Every fucking time," Andy said, adding a slight eyeroll to his exhasperated response.

The teasing was enough to distract Andy from his original question, and Norman breathed a sigh of relief as the Englishman went off on a good-natured rant about how that particular phrase wouldn't die. The conversation segued into talk of next season. Speculation on new characters. Their dream cast if certain roles were added. They rattled on and on, talking more animatedly with each round they ordered. Norman felt closer to normal than he had all week.

"I know. I know. It'll never happen, but could you _imagine_ Walken in that role? Man, he would kill it," Norman said.

Andy nodded and clinked their glasses together. "May we be so lucky," he said, then downed the rest of his drink. "We already are, really. This cast… they're bloody brilliant. All of them. And God, Melissa? The second she opened her mouth that first season, I knew I was going to have to work my ass off to keep up with her."

Norman ran his fingertips over the rim of his now-empty glass. "Yeah, she's special," he said, never taking his eyes off the trail his fingers traced. The feel of the polished glass soothed him, and it took a few seconds before he realized Andy had stopped talking. He snapped to attention and saw the knowing look of concern he'd been hoping to avoid tonight.

"Alright, what happened?" Andy asked. "You two are usually thick as thieves, but you didn't say more than a couple words to each other all week."

Norman tried act casual. "Really? Huh. Must have been focused on the scenes."

"And at the wrap party? Were you focused on the scenes then?"

"No, I was focused on your ass then," Norman said, throwing in a wink for effect. The deflection seemed to work. Andy nodded thoughtfully before breaking into a grin.

"Yes, my wife noticed. Speaking of, I should probably get home to her before she suspects we've run off together."

"So that means we aren't?"

"You're incorrigible."

"And you love it," Norman said, tossing some cash on the table to cover the tab and a generous tip. "You gonna be alright stumbling home by yourself?"

Andy stood and swayed slightly, but succeeded in steadying himself and pulling on his jacket. "I'm good. Promise me you'll take a taxi or goober or something."

"Goober? Like peanuts? Or…" Norman realized Andy's mistake and fell into a fit of laughter.

"What?" Andy asked.

"It's Uber, Mr. I-Have-A-Flip-Phone."

"All these newfangled things-"

"Did you just say 'newfangled'?" Norman interrupted.

"Shut up," Andy replied. "Call a taxi, Norm. And don't tweeter any of this."

"Tweet," Norman corrected him as he clicked a button on his phone. "And too late. Got… oh, wow. 239 faves already. This could be a new record."

Andy raised two fingers rather than risk speaking again, then shook his head in defeat and hugged him goodbye. Norman watched him stagger out the door and then looked down at his phone. 781 faves. It really could be a new record. He walked outside and hailed a cab, chuckling as the car drove past Andy carefully making his way down the sidewalk toward his apartment. It felt good to laugh. To know he had someone in his corner, worrying about him, wanting him to be okay. And Andy wasn't the only one. He had more than a few people like that in his life these days. People who cared. Who loved him.

People he loved.

The good feeling he'd finally managed seeped away, leaving him empty. Or not so much empty as filled with things he'd rather not face. Regret was taking up more than its fair share of space. It spread through him and he slumped beneath its weight again. He loved her, but it had never crossed his mind that she could possibly love him back. He'd always operated on the assumption he wasn't good enough. Hell, he'd proved as much, bouncing from one pretty young thing to the next. Never by himself, just like she said. Never giving her the opportunity to let him know how she felt. He couldn't imagine how that must have hurt her. Or maybe he could.

He'd give anything to fix that. To take it all back and do things differently. She'd been right, though. He couldn't change for her. It was something he'd tried before, spending much of his life as a chameleon, adapting to whatever situation, whatever company he was in at the time. Things always seemed safer that way. Easier… until it wasn't and tempers would flare, usually his. He'd say or do something stupid and that would be it. Game over.

The cab stopped and Norman looked up, startled that they had already arrived at his house. He paid the driver and climbed out, struggling a bit with the deadbolt before he successfully made it through the front door. His keys clanged loudly when he tossed them in the bowl, but he was too focused on the photo lying facedown next to it to notice.

He picked up the framed image and let his eyes wonder over it. That ever-shifting illusion of change he'd attempted before wasn't an answer, but he _could_ change. Figure out how to live with himself, just himself, without the crowds and adoring fans and friends with benefits. Be more than all the hype. Like Andy. Like her. There'd been glimpses of that. Times he was happy being holed up deep in the woods with his art. It never lasted, those hints of something more flitting just beyond his reach. He wasn't certain he could do it, but he knew he couldn't stand feeling this way. If ever he was going to try, now was the time.

It couldn't be for her, but maybe, if he was lucky…. He tried not to think about it. She could very well move on before he was ready. Find someone who already had their shit together. It wasn't like opportunities weren't knocking on her door. Part of him wished she would. She could be happy.

Norman hung the photo back on its hook, shimmying it back and forth until it no longer appeared crooked. His eyes were once again drawn to her face, smiling out at him, making a slight twinge of hope flutter in his chest.

It was time to get unstuck.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**  Sorry this update took so long... wow my life was crazy busy there for a while. Thanks to Emily, Liddy, and Naomi for beta-reading! <3

* * *

_A few months later..._

His fingers brushed the small of her back, slowly gliding to her side, and delicately traced the curve of her hip. Melissa sighed as he tucked up behind her, distracted from his touch by the warmth of his breath on the nape of her neck, a stark contrast to the cool pillow beneath her head. His arm wrapped around her torso and she felt protected. Peaceful.

"I missed you," she said, gently grasping the arm draped over her. His lips grazed the side of her neck and drew a thousand goosebumps to the surface before his murmured reply reached her ears.

"I'm not going anywhere again, no matter how hard you try to get rid of me."

There was no doubt in her mind it was true. She could hear his devotion when he whispered her name against her ear, pure and unselfish. She turned and saw clarity in his eyes. Felt his ache when his mouth met hers. Somehow they'd ended up in each other's arms, and she'd felt none of the trepidation or regret she had imagined. She was safe with him. They fit. They were simply right, like the last pieces of a puzzle, seemingly out of place until a change of perspective reveals how easily they click into place.

"I won't be trying to get rid-" she started, but her voice was lost to a siren outside, growing steadily louder. The corners of his eyes crinkled, an amused smirk tugging at Norman's lips as pressed them lightly to hers. When he pulled away, she started to speak again, but the siren blared louder until her eyes suddenly fluttered open.

The spot next her to was empty and cold. She ran her fingers over the cotton sheet, so rough in comparison to his skin, crisp and unyielding. Her lungs began to protest as she barely breathed, all her effort channeled into preventing her heart from splintering in her chest. She'd worked hard to move on in the last few months. Felt she'd made solid progress. And all it had taken was one dream, one imagined interaction of lying in his arms, and the pain of letting him go was as fresh as the night she'd left him at that roadhouse.

Lincoln's whine distracted her from the memory, and she reached for the button to silence the alarm that had drawn her out of her dreams and back to the reality she had to face.

Today was the day. The first day of filming for the new season, and the entire cast and crew would be gathered to go through the script of the season premiere. Through pulling strings and just plain luck, Melissa had successfully avoided seeing Norman since that night. Even managed to skirt appearing on _Talking Dead_ after the finale. Scott had approached her, but she'd talked faster than she could think, arguing that the love scene was part of Daryl's larger story arc this past season, convincing the showrunner to appear instead. In the end, it was decided Scott and Gale would be the announced guests, with Norman joining them on the couch as the "surprise" guest they used to tease the audience into viewing. She was one of those audience members, watching from her own living room and ignoring the notifications on her phone as she was inundated by friends and fans alike. The only buzzing she didn't ignore was his call afterward.

"I'm surprised you picked up," his voice had crackled through the bad connection.

"Me, too," she'd replied. Not wanting the awkwardness of their honesty to drag on, she'd plowed ahead. "You were great tonight, though. Really. What you said about Daryl… and Carol… it was beautiful."

"You should have been here. I wish you had… damn, I don't even know what to say right now. Just that I wanted you beside me on that couch. Not for me, either… for you. You deserved that. I don't want you putting your career on the backburner to avoid me. I want to be friends, Mel. I want… can we do that? Can we be friends?"

She'd paused as she considered it, long enough that she'd heard him exhale his disappointment before she could form an answer.

"Alright, if you don't want that, then…" his voice had trailed off.

"I want it. I'm just not sure how to do that right now."

"But you want it?"

"Yes. We'll get there, but I'm not ready," she'd explained. "Not yet."

"Not yet. Okay. But next time we get asked to do a show together, or a con, you need to accept and I'll decline. We'll switch off as long as you want. Deal?"

"Deal."

She could hear him struggle with words, wrestling over what to say next, trying to figure out if he'd already stepped over a line by calling in the first place. Most of her own thoughts were ones she would rather keep to herself, since all she could think of was how glad she was to hear his voice on the other end of the line, even if it was garbled by static.

"You really were great tonight," she'd finally said. "Goodnight."

A few moments' hesitation passed before she heard him concede the conversation. "Goodnight."

All in all, it was going better than she'd hoped, and he'd given her exactly what she'd asked for in the interim, just as he had after her unwitting confession. Time. Space. All of it helping her to move past him. Heal her broken heart. And she almost had, until that dream, that closeness. A nagging thought of how good it felt rushed through her uninvited and she shuddered as she pushed it out again. It wasn't real. That version of him, the one who knew exactly who he was, the one who accepted and loved her. The version who would work every single day to ensure they stayed together. None of it was real.

Melissa pulled herself out of bed and started her morning routine. She'd be put to the test soon enough, but she didn't want to think about it just yet. Not until she could clear the residual thoughts from her head and see things from the perspective of how they really were. In an hour, she'd have that, whether she was ready or not.

* * *

_Family_. She'd missed these people so much. Melissa had had the good fortune to spend time with castmates here and there during hiatus, but the crew members were usually working on other shows to make ends meet. After many hugs and laughs, she spotted him entering the room, carrying his motorcycle helmet and doling out hugs of his own. That familiar tug in her chest flickered briefly, then dissipated into something else. Love, yes, but not like before. It was more of a fondness. A warm affection. Maybe she could do this after all.

Norman took a seat and she threaded her way through the smiling faces, sliding into the chair next to his.

"Hello, friend," she said quietly, resting her hand on his forearm and giving him a small smile.

"Hey, you!" he smiled back, wrapping her up in a tight hug before releasing her just as quickly. His expression was uncertain, but she took his hand, reassuring him that they were fine. His thumb brushed her fingers and he relaxed.

"I missed you," he said. His gaze was steady and calm. Pleasant. It struck her that she hadn't seen him look at her like that before. Something foreign had manifested in his eyes. Something solid. A foundation. "I'm really happy to see you."

"I’m happy to see you, too," she replied.

Their reunion was interrupted by an excited voice carrying over all the chatter in the room.

"Welcome back, everyone!" Scott yelled as loudly as he could. The room slowly fell silent as all eyes turned to the showrunner. "We've got some fantastic things happening this season, I can't wait to share this premiere script with you all. So without further ado, let's get started!"

A cheer went up and Melissa glanced around the room, taking in the sight of everyone celebrating. Each person in this room was a blessing, and she felt so lucky to be right where was she was in this moment. She turned to looked at Norman and saw him sitting back in his chair, not cheering, but grinning from ear to ear, taking it all in as well. She squeezed his hand and his eyes darted to hers.

"You ready, McBride?" he asked, eyebrows raised in mock challenge.

"I really am," she said.

She turned her attention toward Scott, content in the confidence of that answer.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks as always to my betas, Emily and Liddy. You rock!!

* * *

A soft knock at the door pulled Norman's attention away from the notepad next to his laptop. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there staring at it, leg bouncing nervously while he let the words sink in, trying to visualize possible ways to make it happen. He'd made a lot of progress in the past few months, wading into dark waters and making it out the other side. Now that progress was going to be put to the test and it scared the hell out of him.

The interruption was a welcome distraction and he shouted in the general direction of his trailer door for whoever knocked to come in.

"Hey, you."

The warmth in Melissa's voice bolstered him. Ever since they'd been back filming, it had felt like old times. Joking between takes. Hugs and smiles to say hello and goodbye each day. Their friendship was not only flourishing again, it felt stronger than ever, and he couldn't have been more grateful for this chance to rebuild it.

"Hey, what's up? Saw the new stuff?" he asked, spotting the script in her hand.

"Yes, and I wanted to get your take on something," she said. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, gesturing toward the couch for her to have a seat. He stood from his office chair and was about to flop down next to her when her next question stopped him in his tracks.

"You had an interview? Is that why you missed lunch?" she asked, nodding toward the laptop. He turned and saw the screen, still open to Skype, and quietly cursed himself for forgetting to close it before inviting her inside. That familiar, beckoning urge to lie, to just say yes and move on, crept through him, striving to convince him it was the easy way out. He'd learned the truth the hard way, though, each time the decision to take that path came back to bite him later, in some form or another. He didn't want to live that way anymore. Didn't need to. He was with someone he trusted. Someone who actually knew him and valued him for who he was, not for what he could give her or some fantasy that reality could never match.

He closed the lid to the laptop and glanced at the words scrawled across the notepad again.

_Allow a moment of vulnerability._

Norman took a deep breath and turned back to face her. Her smile had vanished and her brow was beginning to furrow, confusion slowly turning to concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

The time for wading in dark waters was over. He took his fear and jumped into the deep end.

"Yeah, I am," he said, sitting beside her. "I'm, uh… I'm _good_ , actually."

"Are you sure?" she said, the concerned expression fading only slightly with his answer.

"Positive. That, uh… that wasn't an interview. I mean, I was grilled pretty hard," he smiled at her, lightening the mood a bit before continuing, "but it was a session. With my psychologist in New York."

Her eyes widened for a split second before softening again. "You're in therapy?"

He nodded. "Have been. Since, well, since after last season. After we, uh…."

He was already putting himself out there, already opening himself to her judgment, so he pushed through the discomfort and kept going. "After you asked why I was with other women… if I loved you. I realized I had no idea. I didn't know why I did any of the stuff I did. And I wanted to figure that out… why I seemed to hit the self-destruct button so often."

She attempted to hide it, but the concern returned to her face, sitting just below a mask of mild curiosity. It was fascinating, how she wasn't quite as good as Carol at pretending everything was fine when she was reeling inside.

"You're doing this for me?" she asked.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "It's exhausting running away from everything all the time, fucking things up. What happened with us… that finally made me face it. But I'm doing it for me. It's got to be for me."

Her mask faded into relief and she put her hand on his, entwining their fingers together. "Good. I'm proud of you for doing this." The warmth had returned to her voice and her eyes reflected the sincerity of her words. He felt their familiar pull, felt his nerves spark as his entire being was once again involuntarily drawn to her. His eyes drifted toward her mouth and he forced himself to look away before he did something they'd both regret. He'd worked too hard to backslide into his old habits.

"Thanks," he said. "That means a lot."

"I really am," she said.

"I know. And I know I'm lucky to have you in my life. To have my family, Sean, Andy… everyone here. I haven't had a lot of relationships that were real, you know? But those people… you…"

The desire to forge ahead, to lay it all out there before her, caught him off guard. He'd already done it. Already completed the goal his therapist had assigned him for this week, and he knew he could leave this conversation as it was. She'd understand what he was saying about their friendship. What it meant to him. But she was more than that, and she deserved to know.

"What happened with you," Norman said, meeting her eyes again, "that was real."

As soon as the words were out of him, his body locked down. He couldn't move as she stared at him, couldn't avert his eyes, or put up any sort of fight against the onslaught of emotion that began to overtake him, binding him so tightly in her gravity he would have sworn she was the sun. Melissa seemed to sense it, the notion that the smallest gesture from her would cause him to hurtle himself into the flames. She hesitated, the seconds ticking by in a deafening silence, before looking down at their hands and breaking the spell. Her fingers grasped his tighter.

"It was for both of us," she said.

The weight of the conversation lingered, and she shifted on the couch, slipping her hand from his. Her eyes flicked between him and the floor. "I, um. I…"

"The script," he said, desperately trying to give her a way to recover from the nervousness he'd created between them. He'd just got her back in his life. He couldn't scare her off again. "You had a question?"

She did a double-take at the change in topic, and then a shy smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. The script crinkled softly as she flipped through the pages until finding the passage she had underlined.

"Here… on page 16. The conversation in the kitchen…."

Norman listened intently, taking in her ideas on the scene while breathing a sigh of relief. He'd admitted everything to her, and she had accepted all of it, allowing his moment of vulnerability to become her own as well. Not putting up a wall between them like she had before. He wouldn't have blamed her if she did. He'd burned her, badly. And he knew exactly how fortunate he was that she was still sitting next to him now, moving forward instead of going back.

His determination grew stronger. He wasn't going to dance that two steps forward, one step back routine he'd perfected over the years, not with her. It _had_ been real. It still was, for him at least, and he'd be damned if he was going to mess this up. He was going to wait until he was certain that wasn't a possibility.

"Yeah," he said when she finished explaining her thoughts on the scene. "That's the best way to do it."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Big shout out to Emily for poking at me and beta-reading this.

* * *

Melissa drove up to the house, tucked between stands of thick trees not far from the studio. The stone structure was a modest two-story situated away from the road to afford privacy. A wide, lazy stream cut across the far corner of the backyard, and she spied him standing beside it, trying to skip rocks across the slow-moving surface. He turned and waved as she climbed out of her car, then returned his focus to the lulling water.

She paused in the driveway for a moment, taking in the site of him, relaxed and fluid in both his movement and his demeanor. She couldn't remember a time when Norman wasn't fidgeting and restless while waiting for her, but here he was, casually enjoying the simplicity of the activity he'd chosen to pass the time until her arrival. Several seconds passed before it struck her that she was staring. She silently cursed her indulgence and walked hastily toward him, reaching him in time to watch the last of the flat stones he'd held skip twice before sinking below the water's surface.

"Hmmm, not bad. Maybe I can give you some tips if you rent this place," she said by way of greeting.

Norman turned and smiled, pulling her into a hug. "Yeah, I bet you could. You're always schooling me with something. Wanna see the inside?"

"That's why I'm here," she smiled back, ignoring the simmering reluctance to let go and releasing him from the embrace. She followed him onto the wide front porch and glanced around, appreciating the greenery around them as he entered a combination into a keypad beside the front door.

He waited for a soft click, then turned the knob and stepped inside, pausing to punch another code into a second box to disable the alarm system. When he moved aside to let her in, she nearly did a double-take. The cozy entryway opened to a large living room where rough-hewn beams crisscrossed overhead, intricately carved wainscoting lined each nook along the walls, and a delicate pattern in the dark hardwood floors subtly directed her gaze toward the large stone fireplace in the corner. The architectural showpiece was flanked on either side with broad bookshelves that spanned the ten-foot distance from floor to ceiling.

"Wow," she said, slowly making her way across the room and studying each incredible detail. "You weren't kidding about this place. I never would have guessed from the outside. It seemed lovely, but… this is stunning."

"Yeah, it's something, isn't it? Kitchen's pretty sweet, too. On the small side, but they put a lot of thought into it when they remodeled. Plenty of storage for all the gadgets I never use."

"I think I want to live in this room. You'd be okay with that, right?" she asked, smiling at him before she settled onto a padded window bench and picked up a book from the small stack piled neatly next to her. She didn't pay attention to the pages she thumbed through, still mesmerized by the features of the room. This place felt like a cabin retreat, but with all the luxurious touches a person could ever want.

"Sounds like you think I should take it," he said, leaning against the archway that led to the hall.

"Sounds like you already decided you were before you asked me to come look at it."

"Maybe, but I wanted your opinion, especially on the location. You know the area better than I do," he said. "So, what do you think? Stalker-resistant?"

She laughed at his mock-fearful look. Norman was already looking for a new place two months into the season because he'd been followed home. Again. Except this time he'd returned one evening to find a woman sprawled across his bed, clad in one of his button-down shirts and nothing else. This one turned out to be fairly harmless, other than feeling no qualms about managing to disable his security system and breaking in. Still, he didn't want to risk another, possibly more dangerous, encounter, so he was staying at a bed and breakfast while he looked for somewhere safer to lease.

"I think it's as perfect as you'll get," she said. "It's isolated, but there are a few different routes you could take to get here, if you need to switch things up. Neighbors are far enough away that you can be loud if you want, but close enough to notice if something is wrong. And I'm already in love with this fireplace, so…."

"Alright, then. I'm convinced," he pulled his phone out and dialed a number, wandering out of the room as he spoke to the leasing company. Melissa's gaze followed him until he disappeared around the corner, holding there until her train of thought pulled her back to her surroundings.

She took it all in for a few minutes, enjoying the silence, until the reason for the silence spiked her curiosity. His voice was no longer filtering from around the corner, so she made her way leisurely into the hall, trying to guess which direction he'd gone after she'd lost sight of him. A low popping noise led her to the kitchen, where she found him pouring some wine into two glasses.

"Brought this to celebrate, just in case," he said, sliding a glass toward her with a smile. "Leasing agent left the paperwork here, so I made it official. Keys are mine. Well, key codes."

Melissa hesitated, but when she spotted the label of her favorite vineyard on the bottle, she returned his smile and exchanged the book she'd absent-mindedly carried with her for the glass. He knew her well.

"Just one. I need to drive home, you know," she said, taking a sip.

"Me, too."

"You _are_ home."

He laughed. "Yeah, but my stuff isn't. Probably won't get here for a few days, so I'll be at the B&B until it does. Although, I'm tempted to pack an overnight bag. It would be nice to have my own space again."

"It's a nice space to have," she said. "Everything you could want. Peaceful, spacious… and those views."

She walked along the kitchen island toward the large, airy windows, looking out at the stream she'd watched him skip rocks across earlier, the sinking sun ducking behind the rolling, tree-covered hill beyond it. It was an enviable sight.

"Yeah. It's got great views." An unmistakable hint of mischief laced his tone, and she turned to see him focused directly on her, rather than the scenery behind her.

"You're incorrigible."

"That's what Andy always says, too. No idea why," he said, feigning innocence.

"Because he's a smart man."

She crossed back to him and sat on a barstool at the island. "Speaking of smart people… what's going to happen to all these books now that you've rented the place?"

"They'll probably get packed up with the furniture. Just here for staging, anyway." He sat next to her and picked up the book on the counter, flipping it open to the inscription on the front.

" _For my wonderful, wild love_ ," he read. " _You're the only one who has ever written in the margins of my books… or my soul._ "

An unexpected tinge of melancholy edged into voice. It tugged at her, pulling at that same, hidden place where she'd often found her own thoughts getting lost more frequently lately. Melissa took another sip of her wine and watched him blink slowly as his mood shifted into silence and he lost himself to whatever was running through his mind. He slid a hand along his jaw, chewed at the inside of his lip. It was his tell. His unconscious way of coping with an excess of emotion.

She slipped her hand into his, drawing his attention to reassure him. And maybe herself.

"What else does it say?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, and no longer looking at the book, his eyes staying focused on hers, recited the words from the page. " _Our story is not the stuff of fairytales. It is greater than any fiction could dare to be."_

He closed the book and shifted on his stool, turning to face her squarely.

"I know this isn't a fairytale, and I know you've moved past… everything," he said, "but I still need to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I won't ever hurt you again. I swear."

She opened her mouth to console him, to accept his apology and offer one of her own, but the comforting remarks evaporated as quickly as they had come to her. As quickly as the lies she'd been telling herself began to fall away and reveal what she'd walled up in denial. These straying thoughts she'd experienced in the past few weeks, the rumble deep within her that she skirted each time she looked at him. As he ventured into that hidden place yet again, the one she couldn't ignore anymore, she realized he didn't need forgiveness, or consolation. He needed the truth. And so did she.

"Yes, you will."

He shook his head. "No. I-"

"You will. And I'll hurt you. It won't be intentional, or with some sort of malice, but it's inevitable… when you love someone."

The intensity of his stare nearly stole her voice. She slowed her breath to gather her strength, and then laid herself open.

"Letting someone in like that, it's a double-edged sword. You get everything. You let it all in," she said. "And you're in me. You're part of me. I tried to tell myself I'd let that part go, but I haven't. I haven't let you go at all."

She could see his body tense as he struggled for words, to come up with some sort of response to her admission. She held her breath and watched while it sank in, trying to ignore his thumb brushing slowly along her fingers, the way his eyes searched hers, until she couldn't stand it anymore.

It was a gentle kiss. It was slight, unassuming. It was enough.

The dark spaces within her were bathed in a flickering light as she felt him let her in, too. His hand dropped hers and slipped into her hair as he drew her closer, her mouth coaxing his into its own wordless confession, into the mutual admission. This wasn't a fairytale.

Everything she'd tried to release. Everything she'd ignored. She felt it all now, all vivid color and sparks, like someone had put a match to every sparkler in the box on the Fourth of July. She felt it reflected back to her in his kiss, hot and stinging, and then she felt nothing. Nothing but his hands pushing back against her. Against those feelings.

He pulled away, shaking his head.

"I can't. I'll do something… something that'll mess it up. I can't do that to you." The fear was so clear in his eyes that she nearly shivered. She reached for his hand again.

"You won't."

"You don't know that," he said, shying away from her and sliding off his stool. He took a step backward. "I'm not… I can't."

"I know you've dealing with a lot, working on getting yourself in a better place. It's one of the hardest things a person can do, but you're doing it. Look at where you are. The progress you've made. You won't mess it up," she said. "I _trust_ you."

"You shouldn't."

He took another step backward, putting a physical distance between them as she tried to bridge the emotional one.

"I do."

His expression turned from concern to utter confusion, then softened into something else. She knew that look. She'd seen him wear it too many times. He was never any good at hiding his regret.

He stepped toward her again, taking her face in his hands. The tension she hadn't realized she was holding began to ease as he leaned in, his lips softly brushing her forehead, holding her there until he spoke.

"You might trust me, but I don't trust myself. I couldn't live with it if I hurt you again," he tilted her face upward to look into her eyes, and her heart clenched at seeing the resignation in his. She swallowed the growing knot in her throat and shook her head, hoping he wouldn't say what she knew was coming, those same words she'd said to him, months ago.

"This can't happen."

He kissed her forehead again, but it was no consolation. No comfort. His hands slipped from her face and he turned away from her.

"The door will lock automatically when you leave, if you need some time."

He took a step toward the hall, but she reached for him, catching his arm and waiting him out until he faced her again. When he finally did, she saw that same pain she had felt at the roadhouse, that shattering of his heart as he tried to let her go. That untouchable face. She released his arm and watched him walk away, head hanging low, shoulders sagging. She wished she could talk him through this, convince him his sacrifice in that moment proved he was ready to be in this with her.

The front door opened and closed again, and she tried not to listen as his bike roared to life, the sound quickly fading into silence. It stung to know how much he was hurting right now, to know the only way she could be there for him was by giving him the same time and space he had given her when she needed it. She desperately wanted to do more, but he needed to get there on his own. It was a quality they shared.

Her eyes landed on the book on the counter, the catalyst that had prompted her to acknowledge how she really felt. She hadn't paid attention to the cover when she picked it up earlier. Hadn't noticed it was some sort of collection of love poetry. Of all the books in the other room, she'd picked up this one. Flipping the cover open again, she read the inscription for herself, marveling at the simple beauty of it. It was then that she noticed a quote written at the bottom of the page in the same halted handwriting as above.

_True love is taking the risk that it won't be a happily-ever-after. True love is joining hands with the man who loves you for who you are, and saying, "I'm not afraid to believe in you." – C. Lockwood_

Melissa closed the book, resting her hand on it while a quiet determination slowly built in her core.

She wasn't afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the end is by Cara Lockwood, from her novel I Do-- But I Don't. I haven't read the novel, but found the quote on Goodreads while I was searching for quotes on love and risk (which gave me way too many feels for my own good).


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I know it's been a while since I updated, so I hope this doesn't disappoint. Thanks for being infinitely patient with me, lovelies! And thank you to Emiy and Liddy for the beta read.

* * *

 

Weeks. Seven, to be exact. Seven weeks his schedule had kept him busy enough, their scenes were inconsequential enough, that he'd managed to convince himself he was right. That the wide berth she was giving him was doing the trick. That he could limit the damage done to them both.

Seven weeks of wrapping a scene, and looking across the way to see her eyes seek him out. Each time he'd offered a small smile, and she would return it before leaving him to his own devices. Seven weeks of friendly distance and silent support. Of mutual understanding.

Until today.

Today he'd seen her face as she'd walked by his trailer, glancing over at the same moment his friend was exiting. Not just any friend. _That_ friend. The one who'd bid him goodbye after he'd ignored her for an entire weekend, too wrapped up in staring at Melissa's photo to even notice she'd been packing.

It was innocent. Hell, it was beyond that… he'd been helping her find the perfect bike for her new girlfriend's birthday present. He was happy for her. She'd found something good and moved on, with no ill will or awkwardness left between them. But he wasn't prepared for Melissa's expression when she'd witnessed the woman who'd once shared his bed leaving his trailer, all smiles and cheek kisses and hugs and _see you soon_ s.

The hours dragged by until they were dismissed from filming, and like every other time, he looked over at her, hoping for that silent acknowledgment. The sign that despite this morning, despite everything, there was still an unspoken connection. His stomach lurched when her eyes never met his, and she simply turned and strode across the lot. He shrugged off his prop weapon and briskly followed, ignoring the gawking of a handful of extras as he chased her down, finally catching her at her trailer steps.

"That's not what it looked like."

A hint of something familiar, unsettling, shaded Melissa's face for a split-second before she replied.

"It's not my business what it looks like."

"Mel, she's just a friend. That's all. I was helping her-"

"Really," she interrupted, giving him the smile he'd hoped to see a minute ago, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You don't need to explain… you're friends. That's a _good_ thing."

Her voice was understanding. It was warm. _Kind_. And it couldn't have hurt more if she'd slapped him.

Norman searched her face, looking for any hint that her words didn't match her thoughts, but he found no indication she was trying to cushion his feelings, only her own. Of course, she was an actor, he reminded himself. And a damn good one at that.

"And like I said, it's none of my business," she continued, hesitating slightly before quietly adding the next phrase. "Unless you're making it my business."

And there it was again. The familiar, unsettling glimpse. That flicker of hope, tempered with melancholy, as she almost asked, instead of stated, those last words.

He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. As hard as he'd been pushing her away lately, he couldn't deny he wanted it to be her business. He wanted _her_. But that incessant little voice in his head reminded him of his past history and how often he still struggled. Of the way she had looked at him when she walked out of that roadhouse all those months ago, broken.

The specter of that look flitted across her features as he wavered, shoring up his decision.

"I can't."

Her eyes left his, drifting with her thoughts. He felt a piece of his heart trail after them, craving to recant that declaration and wrap his arms around her. To swear he'd never let go.

"Okay." She turned on her heel and stepped up toward the trailer door, pausing as her fingers wrapped around the handle. It was probably better that she wasn't looking at him, couldn't see him fighting that battle. He wasn't sure he would be strong enough if she faced him again, especially as her voice echoed that same warmth and kindness that had wounded him a minute ago.

"I know you were concerned, but you don't need to be. I trust you."

And then she was gone.

 

* * *

 

Melissa closed her script, admitting defeat after re-reading the same passage four times and still having no idea what was written on the page. Her mind seemed to have a singular pursuit this evening, and it certainly wasn't work-related. At least not in the professional sense.

He'd proven himself over and over these last few months. Taken the steps he needed to take. He'd done it for himself. That it made her fall for him all over again was, at the very least, unexpected. But once she'd realized it, she was all in.

It was the truth… what she'd told him earlier. She did trust him, but until he trusted himself, she'd continue to stand back. Let him cross that space on his own. If she'd learned anything from her past relationships, it was that she couldn't fix anyone. All she could do was leave the door open for him. The distance hurt at times, in those moments she was lonely. Sometimes even when she was content. Still, her intuition niggled at her, whispering to give him the time and space he had given her.

It hadn't even been hard most days, to let him find his way. She found comfort in the confidence he'd come around eventually, following his own path toward her, just as she had toward him. A shadow of regret settled over her, reminding her that for the briefest of moments today, she'd faltered in that confidence, though not for the reason he'd assumed. It was clear the meeting at his trailer had been platonic. But the sheer panic on his face when he saw her there… like she would naturally assume otherwise. Like she would lose her faith in him so easily. That was what truly stung.

Melissa glanced outside as headlights lit up her trailer. She'd only been vaguely aware of sunset, lost in her thoughts for the last hour. Most of the crew had headed home long ago, but the few remaining for cleanup were now leaving.

She reached for a switch and turned on the dimmest lamp in the trailer, blinking against the tiny halo of light it produced. It was time to put him out of her head and go home. She tucked her script into her bag, tossing her phone in after as the caller ID suddenly flashed on the screen.

_Norman._

She was physically and emotionally drained, and for a long moment was tempted by the idea of ignoring his call, but she pulled the phone back out of her bag.

"Hi," she answered, trying her best to sound friendly and casual after their earlier conversation. "What's up?"

He paused long enough that she wondered if it was a pocket call, but then his voice filtered through the earpiece.

"Why do you trust me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

He let out a short sigh. "You sound like my therapist, always answering questions with questions."

"That's her job."

"I know, but it's not yours. And I need to know. Please," he said. "Why do you trust me?"

She slumped onto the couch as her mind raced. She had too many thoughts, too many reasons… all rushing through her brain at once, and before she could answer, he spoke again.

"Look at my track record. I'm not exactly the trustworthy sort."

"The last few months prove you are. If you're going to look at your track record, you have to look at all of it. Everything. Not just before."

"Okay. I was an asshole before, and now I'm what?" he asked.

"You tell me."

"Jesus, Mel, will you just-" he started, the exasperation straining his voice. Then immediately, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm frustrated. Every day that goes by, I struggle. Every damn day. Someone will flirt, or be bolder than that…."

"You want to say yes?" she asked. She could hear him calm himself, breathing slowly in and then exhaling. She realized she was holding her own breath, braced for an answer she may not want to hear, and did the same.

"Sometimes it's not easy to say no," he admitted. "But I do. I walk away."

His words hung in the air, the ache of them sinking into her, easily slipping through the openings she had left for him. "You walk away," she repeated, fighting to control the tremble building beneath her compromised barrier, threatening to spill over into her voice. "Don't you see? That's why. I trust you because you walk away, because you _walked_ away… from me. To protect me. Not many people would be that selfless."

"You were."

"That was different. You were different," she argued. "I was looking out for myself."

"For both of us. I know how it would have ended if you hadn't. It wouldn't have been good for either one of us," he said.

She took a shaky breath. For the first time in weeks, she felt a pulse of uncertainty. Of finality.

"And how does it end now?" she asked.

"Now, it's… I'm…. You said it yourself. I'll hurt you. It's inevitable. So why do this? If I'm just gonna hurt you, then why?"

She understood why he'd ask. The question had occasionally crept into her own thoughts since he'd walked out of that house, why anyone would take such a risk. And every time she asked herself, she circled back to the same answer.

"Because you've shown me who you really are. You've laid out all your weaknesses, and your flaws… those darkest parts of yourself. I know they scare you, but I'm not afraid. If anything, they make what you did shine brighter. So bright it's all I can see… this gift. Putting me above what you want, shielding me."

The air seemed to grow thicker, her lungs heavy with an awareness she hadn't comprehended until he'd forced her to say it out loud. How hard she'd worked to believe that she could work with him, be near him, and not feel the impact of his resistance. How his dedication to sparing her pain was the very thing tearing her apart.

"And maybe that's my weakness. My flaw. That I don't want that from you. That I've fallen so far you could destroy me with a single word, or a _look_ , and I don't care… I don't care because nothing could hurt worse than this. Than being without you. Every day, every… minute without you-" she choked on the last words, trying desperately not to break under the weight of them.

Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing in her ears. It was all she could hear. She waited, gripping her phone so tightly she feared she may have accidentally hung up on him before the silence was broken.

"You in your trailer?"

"What?"

"Are you-" A fist pounded at her trailer door, the thudding echoing in her phone before the line went dead. She couldn't allow herself to want it, to hope, until she turned the latch and dared to look out.

He stood there, chest heaving with labored breaths, shaking fists clenched at his side as he stared up at her. The strangled "please" barely escaped her throat before he moved, crashing up her stairs, crashing into her.

The phone slipped from her hand, tumbling somewhere across the carpet, away from them. Away from everything that mattered.

There was no need for words anymore.


End file.
